Underneath the stone heights the quiet reigned. The Emperor rested on his perch, deep in thought.

Outside, early afternoon sun blazed through the forest, and the autumn colors shone like flame. He could see squirrels chattering in the branches, and an occasional mouse darting through the undergrowth. His guards stood hidden in the shadowy corners of the room, close to the entrances. Silent and still, they seemed hardly present at all.

Far out there, the Emperor knew, his servants would be busy even at this moment with preparations for the feast. He encountered opposition when he proposed to go through with it; many said it would be bad luck, after what had happened the last time.

The year before, it was the news of Waterland’s betrayal that interrupted the festivities; and nothing had been the same ever since. It was unbelievable, unimaginable because it was unprecedented — no part of the Empire had ever withdrawn, until that day. Yet it did occur, and even now the chill that had spread over the land and poisoned the hearts of the populace could still be felt.

Trouble did not end then, either. Reclaiming the land should have been easy enough, with the Empire’s far superior strength; but Waterland knew of it too, and so never faced the Empire in open battle. Instead, they hid in their misty marshlands and used trickery to lead the Emperor’s investigative troops off the paths and to their doom. Very few returned, and of them none succeeded in even finding the settlement. After a while the Emperor knew he could no longer let it go on, losing people for not much of a purpose, and so he chose to give up the pursuit. Thus it happened that Waterland gained its freedom, and the Empire was left to recover from the blow.

Now, a year later, it seemed the balance was somewhat restored. Waterland, quite apart and intent on going its own way, was struggling; the marshlands were of no use for much except food, and even that was scarce enough. Somewhere in the depths of that sodden earth an Old People city was buried; a few of its towers still showed their tops, and the Emperor knew from his spies that in one of those Waterland had placed its government. It was a ramshackle, pitiful arrangement, and said much about the state the newborn republic was in.

Still, it was never wise to underestimate one’s enemies, and so the Empire’s defenses were kept as strong and wary as ever. Often, it was the weakest who would strike most forcefully — the ones with nothing left to lose — and Waterland was fast approaching just such a state. The first anniversary of their founding would be considered an auspicious date, too, and if they were to attack at all they would most likely do it then. Understanding that, the Empire had strengthened its borders, and lay in wait.

The Emperor was staring into the greenery without seeing. All was well — all was prepared; there was no cause for sadness, yet he could not fight it off. For him, the deepest wound when it came to Waterland was not its departure itself but who headed it. During the Emperor’s lifetime many young crows had passed through the court — making connections, learning the ways of the powerful, bringing the concerns of their homelands to light. Most of those had come and gone, enlightened; some had stayed, and it was those that the Emperor would grow most fond of. He had no children of his own, not yet, and so had welcomed into his heart these youngsters instead — had come to love them like family, like one of his own.

Now it was all gone like spring snow, and the next time he would see them he would pass the sentence, and watch them die. He would have saved them if he could — he dreamt of it often enough — but by now, a year in, it was already too late, and the time had come for him to face the truth that for Waterlanders, there was only one path left.

‘Your Majesty!’

The mindscape broke like glass, and the Emperor turned to face the doors, helping his balance with his wings. The guards did not move; the voice would be known to them just as it was to him, and there was no need to prevent an Advisor from entering.

‘Your Majesty!..’

Arenn flew in and landed some distance from the foot of the perch, her claws scraping the stone as she dug them in to arrest her movement. Even breathless and agitated, she remembered to perform a proper obeisance, but haste made it untidy. ‘Majesty, grave news!’

She straightened and looked up at him, waiting for the permission to continue.

‘Proceed, Second Advisor.’

‘There was an intruder, Majesty. We have caught him. We’ve caught a spy.’

The Emperor inclined his head in puzzlement.

‘How is that grave news? Surely a spy captured is an improvement over one roaming free.’

‘No, Your Majesty.’ Arenn’s eyes seemed larger in the dimness. ‘We’ve caught him here. Just as he was walking out of the gardens.’

‘Here, in the capital?’

‘Here, in the palace. Your Majesty.’

The Emperor stared at her as the understanding slowly dawned. There was only one place brazen enough to send spies, but because Waterland was quite a way from the capital they had always been caught long before they reached it. If this one had made it all the way here… How was it possible, what lapses in security could have let it happen? He knew better than to suspect his own First Advisor; Rann’s hatred for Waterland was far more fiery than his own frustration. Therefore… therefore…

There had to be a way, but all the ways the Emperor could see were impossible, and his thoughts thrashed in his skull like a trapped dragonfly. Without a word he pushed off his perch and dived, using the length of the room to gather speed as he aimed towards a far window. Arenn rose to follow, and out they flew with the guards falling in place around them and squirrels scattering at the sight.

The Emperor did not like underground spaces, but it was a necessary precaution. He entered the Department of Defense in another dive, shooting right through the spacious rooms of the above-ground level and turning into the dank corridors below.

The few torches that hung on the walls here and there flickered in the wind. The corridors grew more narrow the further they went, and the Emperor could imagine the weight of the earth above pressing him to the ground. But a lifetime of being royalty had taught him to hide his unease, and he knew he appeared as stately as ever.

The great doors that led to the lowest levels were opened for him, and he had no need to slow his flight until he reached the place. He had not asked Arenn for the directions; the one interrogation room they had was the only place the spy could currently be.

None but the worst offenders were sent down here permanently — to spend the remainder of their lives in tiny cells, alone with their mounting insanity, forever separated from the world and their own kind. Most were given the choice between the cells and death; many chose the latter, and the Emperor was not surprised — a crow was not meant to live underground, away from the sun and the skies. But even the Emperor himself could not argue for clemency when the people thus punished were murderers.

Compared to them, this spy was at the same time both better and worse. His motives could quite possibly be pure — to serve his country, to aid his people; but his allegiance would make his presence in the Empire intolerable, his existence impossible to prolong. There would be no choice for this crow.

The interrogation room was one of the deepest, the darkest, the most grim; the feel of it alone was akin to torture. Only those few who were specially trained to endure it could stand it for long — only those few like Rann, who, as the Emperor now saw, had made it there before him.

The others there sank to the floor in formal greeting but Rann only gave him a look; as his wife and thus his only equal, she was of course exempt. The Emperor heard Arenn and his guards drop into bows, too — not for him, because they had come with him, but for Rann. Arenn’s ‘Your Majesty’ to her was barely audible.

The firelight glinted in Rann’s feathers and shone red in her eyes.

‘It claims it will only speak with the Emperor,’ she said. There was no emotion in her voice, but the Emperor knew her well enough to read fury in her curtness, and in her calling the spy ‘it’.

The intruder was tied to a post, held fast at the legs, just below the ribs, and then at the neck. Unarmed and surrounded, he was safe to approach, and the Emperor strode toward him; but as he came closer, the prisoner opened his eyes —

‘A child?!’

The Emperor recoiled, horrified. He had expected much evil from Waterland, but this was worse than even the bleakest of his guesses.

The blue eyes had a dazed, distracted expression. It was impossible to tell how damaged the child was from the capture, but the Emperor knew his troops, and knew that if the spy had fought back at all there would have to be some injuries hidden by the feathers. He certainly looked as if he were in pain.

‘It seems Waterland sends children to fight their battles,’ Rann said, still in the same bland, inert voice. ‘And to spy for them.’

At those words the prisoner’s gaze focused somewhat.

‘I am not a spy,’ he mumbled. ‘Nor am I a child.’

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision it seemed, and as he grew more alert the Emperor saw the hatred emerge onto his face, and the hostility. There was something aberrant about that expression on the face of someone so young.

‘Are you the Emperor?’ the spy asked, blinking still. Rann moved to censure him, but the Emperor waved her down: impertinence was only to be expected from a Waterlander, and considering what fate awaited him there was no point in teaching him any better.

‘I am,’ the Emperor said. ‘If not a spy, then who are you?’

‘A messenger.’

‘And what is your message?’

To his side, the Emperor caught a movement as Arenn stepped to the table that stood by the wall, where writing supplies were laid out. She had been an Advisor for long enough that she learnt well to anticipate orders. If the message were to be cryptic, they could all discuss it later, and not be confused by differing memories.

‘The most gracious Presidential Council of the Republic of Waterland,’ the child began, but then lost it in a fit of coughing. After a guard, following Rann’s direction, poured a drink of water into the prisoner’s beak, the coughs subsided. ‘The most gracious Council bids you to consider your fate, and give in to our superior power before it is too late. We shall come, and when we do you shall surrender or perish.’

‘The Council thinks much of itself,’ Arenn said. Rann only made a huffing sound.

‘It is news to me,’ the Emperor said, ‘that Waterland has any claim to superior power. Can you elaborate, my child?’

The blue eyes looked almost purple in the firelight, like lavender.

‘I am not a child,’ the prisoner repeated. ‘Nor am I yours. Have you not wondered how I came to be here?’

An odd premonition descended onto the Emperor, a feeling as if he knew exactly what would be said next. He would wonder later if it was because he’d known of that old city in the marshes, if on some level he’d expected this, even if it was impossible — if, in some peculiar way, he figured it out just before the words came.

‘I flew here,’ the child said. ‘I flew above the clouds, and never needed my wings to do so.’

For a while, there was no sound but the crackling of fire. Then Rann spoke —

‘Lies.’

The spy laughed — a weak, pained sound, ended in yet another cough. Eventually he managed to master his voice enough to reply —

‘You are so certain. You wish it weren’t so, couldn’t be so, but it is just so. We’ve not spent this year doing nothing, you know — we’ve been working, searching, and now…’ Another cough; and, following Rann’s gesture, more water. ‘Now we’ve discovered what none before had. Not because they had lacked ability, but because you never allowed them. But Waterland is a free nation, and we have…’

‘Are you claiming that you’ve restored the Old People’s inventions?’ the Emperor asked.

‘No need to claim. It is the truth. How else do you think I could have arrived here, into the very heart of your domain?’ The spy’s voice was growing quieter as he tired of speaking, but still he went on. ‘All the soldiers you keep, all the barriers — they are nothing to the iron fliers that the Old People built. We have found them; we’ve restored them, and their ways of speaking to each other across great distances, and many other wondrous things that you can never hope to match.’

‘Waterlanders are good with words,’ the Emperor said. ‘I know that well, for I have taught some of you myself. But do you have any proof of this — any at all?’

A small pause as the child recovered his breath, and the Emperor felt it again — another stab of intuition, a cold touch of the future he already knew he could not avert.

‘Look in the bag.’

In another life, in another world that answer might have been ‘no’, and all would be different; but in this life the Emperor watched as the sack was brought forward, and peeled back to show a dark object that was recognizably, chillingly foreign — recognizably of the Old People, sleek and unnatural, and even carrying some of their mammalian smell somehow still, after what could only be centuries in the water.

‘Explain, messenger,’ Rann said.

‘Open it.’

To the Emperor, it looked more than anything like a piece of grey slate found by a river — shaped by water into soft lines, but not destroyed, not yet; and it must be light like slate, too, if this child alone had carried it. The guards holding it had more trouble with the bulk of it rather than weight. They found the split in it, long and straight, and with some effort pulled it open, resting one of the parts on the floor and allowing the other to rise up.

Suddenly, the thing came alight.

They all shrunk back from it, from its eerie, wintry glow; but it was small after all, and made no sound or movement, so after a while they approached it cautiously again. The light was not solid, but made of what looked like millions of tiny pinpricks, each glowing like the moon. The Emperor squinted at them, and made out a picture of a forest; not a forest he knew, and not as black as he would have expected an Old People forest to be, but at least it was nothing threatening.

‘I have read about these,’ Arenn said suddenly. The Emperor turned to her, grateful. ‘There have been some findings of these, in the Old Days before it was all forbidden. But they would never shine for long — after only a few days, they would die and be useless. It’s only a decorative item, isn’t it? A kind of lighting.’

‘Not this,’ the child said. ‘I can show you, if you bring it close enough for me to reach.’

‘Not with all of us around you won’t!’ Rann darted forward in a flap of wings, placing herself between the spy and the object. ‘That is much too dangerous. I cannot let the Emperor risk his life in this manner. I can’t even do it myself, in fairness. Volunteers?’

‘I, my lady!’ came the shouts of several guards, but above them the voice of the prisoner rose, hoarse, distorted by the pain —

‘No! The Emperor must be present, he must talk to them, there won’t be much time —’

‘Why won’t there be much time?’ Rann whirled to face him, staring him down, and all sound swiftly died. ‘What is your plan? How did you intend to murder the Emperor?’

The child only gave her a look.

‘I intended no such thing,’ he said wearily, softly. ‘Just talk to them. That’s why I’m here, I was to bring this to you… Only let me call for them.’

‘Call them here? They will not be allowed in the palace, whoever they are.’

‘They will not be here, only their voices. Just let me do it. They wish no harm to the Emperor.’ The child turned to him. ‘They remember their times here, you know. If they can take this land bloodlessly, they will be glad to do it. There is no need…’

‘I cannot let them take my land,’ the Emperor said automatically. His eyes kept returning to the object. The pale light it cast over the room felt wrong, poisonous. He remembered dimly a tale of just such a thing — an unseen but powerful poison the Old People made, which afflicted all in its path, burning and twisting the insides of every creature until all succumbed. But he could not even know if it had been real, let alone if it were possible to recreate it. And regardless, if this light was that poison, then it was already too late; they might as well proceed.

Rann met his eye, and he gave her a tiny nod.

The thing was brought to the prisoner’s face, to allow him to touch his beak to the lighted surface. The picture changed, but it was still too bright for the Emperor to see much — too bright, and too large, disjointed; if he could look at it from a greater distance perhaps he would have been able to see it better, but here in these cramped quarters it could not be helped.

‘Done,’ the prisoner said after only a few touches. This speed felt deceptive, and the Emperor tensed. ‘Now sound will come. Wait.’

Arenn moved forward a little, staring at the lights. They had all read on the Old People and the magical things they could do, but it still felt surreal that one of their creations would be here, active for them all to witness its works. In a way it was like seeing a mythical being, a Fire Bird or a Striped Horse, something curious and dreamlike; but unlike those the Old People were a fact, not a story, and suddenly after centuries it felt almost as if they were here — as if they had never left, but only lay sleeping in the marshes, to return some day and destroy the Earth again.

There was a reason why their ways had been forbidden. The Emperor stared at the object, feeling as if there was something he had missed, something that was already too late to correct.

For a while, the thing did nothing but emit occasional chirpings, like a grasshopper but much higher pitched; then —

‘Your Majesty?’

Even though the sound was distorted he still knew that voice, would know it on his deathbed.

‘Erren?’

‘But of course, your Majesty.’ He sounded as if the year never passed, as if nothing had changed. ‘You have received my message, I trust? Haven’t killed my poor messenger yet?’

‘We have received it,’ Rann said. ‘We see no reason to oblige, though. Just because you've discovered some old tricks —’

‘And my lady is there, of course,’ Erren said, laughing a little. ‘Nowhere to go without my lady. We have discovered much more, my lady; we know such things you could not dream of — no, not even you. For so long you’ve denied this knowledge to the people, but we shall remedy that.’

‘What do you want now, Erren?’ the Emperor said, as evenly as he could.

‘You have seen some evidence of our current might,’ Erren said. ‘But I gather you are not sufficiently impressed. Very well, tomorrow you shall see more. On the day when we celebrate a year of freedom, fortune shall be on our side; and we shall come to you, and take you with us into a brighter future — take you with us even if we have to carry you flapping and screaming. The time has come, my lords and ladies.’

‘Come if you must,’ Rann said. ‘You’ll be just in time to see your little messenger perish. His execution will fit right into our entertainment schedule.’

‘Will our arrival, my lady? The iron fliers of the Old People take up an awful lot of space, you know.’

‘Iron?’ Rann laughed. ‘Is that all? I’d think you’d know we can deal with that, Erren. Even you should know it, in theory at least —’

‘What do you mean by that, my lady?’ Erren’s voice abruptly turned harsh.

‘Well, it’s not as if you could ever know it from experience…’

‘This had nothing to do with me!’ Just like that, he was shouting at her. ‘I am not a coward, Rann, however many times I have to tell you — I had to protect my people, we would stand no chance against you in a fair fight, but were I alone I would —’

‘Whatever calms your conscience.’

For a moment, the Emperor heard his breathing, then Erren seemed to take hold of his feelings.

‘Tomorrow,’ he repeated. ‘We’ll come, and you’ll see. We’ll —’

And then suddenly he was gone, but instead came a different sound — a chirping again, a twittering, faintly questioning in its inflection.

‘What’s that?’ Rann asked.

‘I don’t know,’ the spy replied. ‘It does that sometimes. Are you truly going to execute me?’

‘Didn’t they warn you before they sent you?’

‘Yes, but I hoped perhaps you might…’

‘Don’t hope,’ Rann said, turning away from him. ‘All shall proceed as planned.’

They left the spy under heavy guard and walked out, into the corridors leading above.

As soon as they were out of earshot Arenn turned to the Emperor.

‘Your Majesty…’ She bowed again, quite needlessly, in what he guessed was an attempt to mollify him. ‘Is that truly necessary? An execution? After all, he’s…’ Under Rann’s glare she withered, but pushed onwards. ‘This is only a child.’

‘It doesn’t agree,’ Rann said dryly. ‘If it thinks it’s big and important, a messenger of the Republic, then we shall treat it accordingly. It’s a Waterland traitor, and thus deserves execution; it’s a spy and an invader of the capital, and thus deserves it thrice over. Can you dispute any of that?’

‘I do not believe we need to categorize him as a spy,’ the Emperor said. ‘He did bring a message, so that claim of his is valid. But Rann is correct about the rest of it. I can see your point,’ he said to Arenn as she opened her beak again, ‘but it is inevitable. I cannot let a spy live.’ She did not reply, but the look in her eyes unnerved him. ‘I could have ordered him tortured, Arenn, to find out if the object was dangerous. I did not do that, as you may recall — I chose to trust him. You are right that this is only a child. He shall be beheaded. It is a fast death, and about as much mercy as I can reasonably grant a Waterlander without risking a riot over it.’

Arenn lowered her head, but before she did he caught a glimmer of relief in her eyes.

‘You’re such a pigeon, Arenn,’ Rann snapped, evidently having seen it too. ‘Children can be just as dangerous. They can kill, too.’

‘But he did not kill us,’ Arenn said. ‘The object worked the way he said it would.’

They walked out onto the first floor, into the sunlight coming through the open windows, but Rann’s thoughts were clearly still back there, with the prisoner, in the darkness below.

‘That’s not good news,’ she said. ‘He did come out of nowhere; little as I like it I do believe he didn’t lie about those fliers, either. Whatever it is exactly, it’s of the Old People’s heritage. We can’t know for how long the Waterlanders will be able to control it before it turns on them and destroys them, and us too if we’re not wary enough. You’ve read the same texts I have; you know how bad it can be. We must be prepared.’

‘But you are, aren’t you?’ the Emperor said softly. Rann gave him a warning look, but he went on, ‘Don’t you think it’s time to tell? You will need Arenn’s help to put it all in place, and you can delay no longer.’

He expected Arenn to be surprised, to start asking questions, but he should have given her more credit.

‘The fire arrow,’ she said. ‘And the caged lightning. Is that all?’

‘You’ve been looking into my department,’ Rann said.

‘My duty takes me to all corners of the capital. Sometimes I see things. And it is, after all, my duty to pay attention, and come to conclusions.’

Rann sighed.

‘It’s not all, but those are the main ones.’

‘Will they take iron?’ the Emperor said.

‘They must, but if those fliers are as large as Erren implied, we’ll need to prepare a great deal of ammunition.’ She waved Arenn on. ‘Come with me, then, and we shall start.’

The day of the feast arrived in the glory of sunlight, and in the sound of hammers.

The Emperor observed the preparations from the window of the library, where he had called the Advisors. They had left by now, burdened by additional orders; most of it would lie on Rann’s shoulders, of course, but the others would have duties, too.

Before Rann there had never been an Empress who was also an Advisor. There had been those who had been Advisors but shed their position once they were married; Rann was the first to refuse that, and he did not have the heart to deny her, even though it took changing the law to make her wish possible.

It was hard to believe now that at first he had not wanted her, had rejected her as a mate; but she had seemed so alien to him then, so incomprehensible with her warrior’s ways and her cutting words, and he had not understood her value. Now he knew better. There was a place for crows like Arenn — like himself, too, if he were to be honest — loyal and reliable, but hopelessly ordinary. And there was also a place for those who burned with a greater fire, and were willing to go far.

No wonder Rann had been forever at odds with Erren. They were too much alike, in this of all things, to ever be at peace. Erren had always had a vision, a grand plan of how the world should be; it had always been clear he would be led astray by it, yet the Emperor never expected just how far. Certainly he would have never thought Erren would sacrifice children to his cause, but that had happened, too.

Erren had been lost the day he left, but the Emperor was only now coming to fully realize it, to feel it to his core, now that the first of the Waterlanders was about to die on his command. He would have spared the spy if he could, but there was no point to it — there could be no future for a Waterlander here, no return after the way they had left; and the people would never accept him, either, not after so many soldiers had already perished because of Waterland’s deceit. This child would only be the first of many. Even as bitter regret flooded the Emperor’s soul he knew he had no choice but do it, would have to watch it happen and let it progress to its end even if all inside him screamed for it to stop.

The silence fell gradually, and the Emperor hardly noticed that it was all over until the last hammer stopped and the last steps retreated. Outside the rows of perches rose high, almost a forest in their own right, and the courtyard lay quiet in the sun, peaceful as if it had never seen blood, would never see it in the future.

The Emperor stepped away from the window. Rann and Arenn had worked through the night, he knew, preparing defenses greater and stronger than the capital had ever seen, and he thanked silently his wife’s foresight that caused her to prepare for an attack so thoroughly that now one night was enough. It said much of Waterland’s arrogance that they chose to forego the benefits of surprise, and gave an open warning instead. Still, it remained to be seen if they would be true to it. Perhaps they believed their iron would prevail, or perhaps they had truly thought the Empire might surrender. Erren was not the only wild dreamer leading Waterland to its doom — they were all like that, the Emperor knew, those young leaders who seemed to imagine that everything would go as they wished if only they wanted it quite enough. To a point, it had worked for them; but now there would have to be an awakening.

The iron fliers were difficult to imagine. The ancient texts that spoke of the Old People had few pictures, and most of those few showed the Old People themselves — towering, fleshy monstrosities, their spines pulled straight, their faces flat and unreadable. The Emperor could not recall one picture of the machines they used to fly, even though there had been verbal mentions. Bird-like they had been, apparently, and white; rising high to hide beyond the clouds, they could not be seen until they chose to descend again, and even on clear days they had ways of obscuring themselves. The Emperor imagined a quiet, pale shadow, moving among clouds until it was lost to sight. The spy must have been dropped from it, swaddled tight to protect him from the airless cold of the upper reaches, and then once he had fallen far enough he could have thrown the covers off, breathed in and flown. It would require some skill to go through such a fall, but with training it should be possible. The young spy was brave, whatever else he was. At least that might help him now, if nothing else could.

The gong sounded for him, and the Emperor took off — out through the window, up into the sky and across the courtyard, to his chambers from which he would emerge in due course during the festivities. Twice the usual number of guards rose up to surround him, and as he soared he saw the shadows below dotted with dark grey spots — Rann’s people, with their feathers dusted, spread across the territory in a pattern only she would know the full meaning of. The rocks, too, seemed more numerous than yesterday; he guessed that the new ones were weapons, concealed but ready.

He waited in the chambers for Rann to come. She returned barely in time, and her eyes still wandered the sky even as the shiny golden decorations of the Empress were pulled over her head and hung on her breast. Only when the heavy doors began to open did she look ahead and compose her face into an expression of serenity. The Emperor and the Empress took wing and emerged into the sunshine and the deafening, raging cheers.